


His Favour

by murderousfiligree



Series: His Favour [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Shots, Canon Compliant, Choking, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Gambling, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), Jeff Goldblum has BDE, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Orgy, Shapeshifting, Whatever Topaz is getting paid it's not enough, frostmaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-07-27 18:25:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16224776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderousfiligree/pseuds/murderousfiligree
Summary: “Well, what are you waiting for?” The Grandmaster was sprawled nude on a blue velvet and gold throne—arms spread, palms open, as if he expected Loki to jump into his lap. “Didn’t you say you were going to, ah, impress me?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been avoiding reading fics with this ship. 
> 
> Not because I don't like it, mind you. But because I know myself well enough to know what will happen: I'll read a really good fic, think to myself "Welp! I can't do better than that! Clearly this fandom doesn't need me." and then never write one of my own. Well, not this time! 
> 
> One small note: Loki makes use of his shapeshifting abilities in this. I use different pronouns for him (/her) depending on his (/her) form. I believe I have written this clearly enough so as not to be confusing, but figured it warranted a comment anyway.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy.

Scrapper 238 was having a bad day.  
  
His ship had been stolen, for starters. It wasn't much of a ship—too small for him to stand up in, and too small by far for guests—but damn it, it had been his. He strongly suspected Scrapper 106 and her band of vagrants had taken it while he was sleeping, but he couldn't prove it. Not that proof was good for anything in a lawless place like Sakaar.  
  
Distracted by the loss of his vehicle, he had failed to notice the steel pipe (no doubt from the innards of some doomed ship) that the portal spat in his direction.  What with a constant stream of interdimensional garbage falling from the sky, seasoned scrappers learn to dodge or die; pure reflex had saved him from a blow to the head. The pipe had smashed into his left foot instead, breaking two of his toes with a sickening crack.  
  
To top it all off he was hungry. Starving, in fact. And with a hurt foot he wasn't much in the mood to chase Sakaarian rats. So 238 sat with his only possession—an old-fashioned ray gun—in his lap, wishing 106 would walk past unawares so he could shoot the smirk off her ugly mug. He was contemplating how her thigh meat would taste roasted over a gas fire when the man in black landed in front of him.  
  
238 leapt to his feet. His broken toes screamed at the sudden pressure, and he shifted his weight to his right leg with a wince. The man lay supine on a patch of bare ground, gasping like a landed fish but, surprisingly, still breathing. Shipless creatures didn't often pass through the portals alive—and if they did, the fall into the Sakaarian junkyard always killed them. 238 limped over for a closer look, gun extended before him. The man's spine was almost surely broken, but it never hurt to be careful.  
  
When he was five feet away, the man's head turned in his direction. Green eyes regarded him with startling intensity. "What is this place?" he asked. "What are you?"  
  
"Sakaar," the scrapper said. His tone was amiable enough, but he did not lower his weapon. "What I am don’t matter. You, though," he pointed the gun at the man's forehead. "You’re dinner."

* * *

 Three things happened simultaneously: Scrapper 238 pulled the trigger, the man in black vanished into thin air, and Scrapper 106 rounded the corner with her gang in tow.

238 boggled at the scorch mark where the man’s head had been a moment before.

“Oy,” 106 barked. “What are ya shootin’ the ground for, you daft fuck?”

238’s head snapped up. The 106 gang was small compared to some—only eight scrappers in all—but that was seven more pairs of hands than he had to shoot with. Unfortunately for him, he was too pissed off (and a mite too stupid) to care. “What are you and your lot doin’ stealin’ ships that don’t belong to ya?” 238 stepped forward with his good foot, raising his weapon. “I’ll blow your head off, you thieving, whoring—!”

But before he could expel what would no doubt have been a hideously misogynistic expletive, three of the 106 gang fired. The first discharge caught him in the throat, the second in the chest, and the third hit his already maimed left foot.

Scrapper 238 fell to the ground.

For what it’s worth, he never had a bad day again.

* * *

Loki considered the newcomers from behind a tower of rubbish. The eight figures were short in stature and dressed in loose, garish rags. All but the leader, who looked like she had started to cover her face in blue paint and had given up halfway through, wore masks. Five of the gang were occupied carving up the one who tried to shoot him; he figured now was as good a time as any to make his move.

“Hello there.” Loki stepped out from his hiding place, hands raised in a universal gesture of surrender. “Could I trouble you for some information?”

Three guns, two daggers, and two weapons that looked like glorified cattle prods swiveled in his direction. Scrapper 106 stood with her arms crossed and her lip curled in apparent disdain. “I’d ask if yer a fighter or food, but you don’t look like much of a fighter to me.”

“You’d be surprised,” Loki said. “But I’m not interested in fighting you.”

“I bet you aren’t, odds bein’ what they are.”

“The odds are terribly unfair,” he agreed, a faint smile on his lips. “Nevertheless, I would be grateful if you indulge my questions before you, ah—” he glanced down at the chunks of flesh the rogue scrapper had become, “—proceed.”

She eyed him for a moment, then shrugged. “Why not.”

“The dead one called this place Sakaar. I’ve never heard of it.” Loki’s eyes shifted to the distant city. Ships buzzed around the gleaming towers like flies. “What realm is this?”

“This is Sakaar, aye. Don’t know what you mean by realm.”

He frowned. “All right then. Who is your king?”

“King?” 106 grinned, revealing a mouth full of missing teeth. “He’s no king of mine, but the Grandmaster runs the place.”

“Grandmaster?”

“Aye. Lives in that there tower,” she said, pointing to a sizable citadel. “Not that you’ll be seeing it up close. Yer questions are starting to bore me.”

Loki felt the muzzle of a weapon pressed between his shoulder blades. He smiled.

“That’s a shame,” he said. “I was considering letting you live.”

* * *

 Loki wheeled on the first scrapper. He pushed the gun into the face of its owner before he could finish pulling the trigger. The man’s head exploded in a shower of red gore.  
  
“Get him!” 106 shrieked.

Loki unsheathed the daggers from his waist crosswise, catching the scrappers flanking him in their throats. They crumpled, blood gushing from beneath their masks.

One of the cattle prods nicked his side. He turned, grabbing the hilt of the weapon with one hand, calling upon his magic with the other. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, eyes aglow with green fire. A queer crackling sound filled the air. The man let go of the prod, taking a step back; this extended his life by perhaps half a second. A blast of green energy reduced him and the scrapper behind him to smoking husks.

Sheathing his daggers, Loki hurled the prod at the closest scrapper. Its pointed tip hit her square in the chest, skewering her to the ground. He plucked the gun out of her rapidly diminishing grip and fired it at the back of a fleeing man. He dropped like a stone.

Loki at last turned to 106, who stood gaping at her decimated band of followers. “I lied,” he said, stepping toward her. Aside from the shallow cut on his right flank, he appeared completely unscathed; were it not for the blood on his trousers, it would be difficult to tell he had been fighting at all. “I never considered letting you live.”

He buried a dagger in her throat before she could reply.

* * *

 Peter Parker might have described the Grandmaster’s tower as the lovechild of Optimus Prime and a totem pole. Lacking those particular cultural references, Loki simply thought it was the most hideously gaudy piece of architecture he had ever seen: six enormous heads glowered at him from the tower’s midpoint, bright silver against its red body. At its base, two men clad in black and yellow stood guarding a steel door.

During his walk from the city’s edge to the tower, Loki had examined the alien milieu with detached interest. The skies bustled with ships and the streets were crowded with pedestrians. Some dressed lavishly. Most dressed in rags. Like the scrappers, Sakaarian city goers seemed to favor bright clothes.

Loki now considered his reflection in the glass wall of an adjacent building. He had transported himself to the city’s edge an eyeblink after his skirmish with the scrappers; their blood left brown stains on green leather. _No,_ he thought. _No, this won’t do at all._

The bloodstains vanished from his clothes. His black and green jacket became a cape of blue and canary yellow; his shirt and trousers assumed a similar shade of blue. The yellow was a little much for his personal tastes, but if he was right about the Grandmaster’s preferences, nothing would be too over the top.

Loki approached the guards with hands clasped before him. “Oh thank the Nine, I’ve found you at last. Soldiers of the beloved Grandmaster!”

The men considered him wordlessly. Red eyes seemed to glow from beneath dark visors, but he suspected the eyes were false.

He pressed on, undaunted. “I must speak with the Grandmaster. I have travelled for months to offer myself to his exalted service.”

The men seemed to exchange a glance, though it was difficult to tell with the unblinking lights that were supposed to pass for eyes.  
“Will you take me to him?”

One of the guards turned to the other. He shrugged.

“All right,” the shorter one said, flipping open a panel mounted by the door. “But no funny business.”

The steel door parted, revealing a hall decked out in red and white. The taller guard grabbed his arm and pulled him across the threshold.

 _Well_ , Loki thought. _That was easy._

* * *

 Real or not, the red eyes boring into his back seemed to have physical weight.

An entire squad of guards dressed in a range of primary colors lined what Loki began to think of as the throne room. Fluorescent lights carved arabesques on the silver wall behind them; across from them, the wall was clear glass. Sakaar’s skyline seemed to rise from the Grandmaster’s shoulders from Loki’s vantage point at the foot of his white and blue chair.

“Grandmaster,” he began, gaze carefully fixed on the floor. “Tales of your generosity have travelled to the far corners of my realm and into the realms beyond. I have travelled many months to reach Sakaar. To reach you.” He glanced up briefly—a glance that would look accidental to all but the most trained eye—then lowered his gaze again. “I am humbled to be in your presence at last.”

“You came to Sakaar on purpose?” The voice was flat and disbelieving; a woman’s voice, presumably the leader of the Grandmaster’s guard.  
  
Loki raised his eyes to meet hers, conjuring his best puzzled look. “Why, of course.”

“No one comes to Sakaar on purpose.”

“Now, Topaz,” the Grandmaster said. Loki dropped his eyes again. “This lovely, ah—you are a man, aren’t you?”

“I can be whatever you want me to be, Grandmaster.”

“Ooo!” The man clapped his hands together. “I don’t know what that means but I like the sound of it. This lovely person, Topaz, has travelled all this way and you’re being awfully rude.”

“Sorry,” she said in a tone that was anything but.

“Now, what was your, ah—what was your name?”

“My name is Loki, Grandmaster.”

“Loki,” he said, as if tasting the word. “Very nice. Stand up, Loki. Look at me! I know my presence can be, ah, overwhelming, but I don’t bite.”

Loki rose to his feet, now looking down at the man who ruled Sakaar. The Grandmaster watched him behind heavy-lidded eyes underlined with cerulean blue; his pupils were wide, his mouth slightly parted. Any doubt Loki had about the man’s sexuality dissolved. _He’ll take me like this_ , he thought, suppressing a smile. _Perhaps as woman, too, but surely like this._

“I pledge myself to your service,” Loki said. “My plentiful talents are at your disposal.”

The woman guard—Topaz?—sneered at him. The Grandmaster licked his lips, not paying her any mind. “What, ah, talents would those be?”

This time Loki did not suppress his smile. “Would you like a demonstration?”

“Oh, yes, we’d love one. Wouldn’t we?”

Topaz grunted.

Letting his gaze slide to the left of the throne, Loki’s attention settled on one of the women sprawled on the _dais_. She was dark-haired, slim, and clad in a gold dress with boots to match. He closed his eyes, letting the magic rise from his core to his skin; when he opened them, he—now she—was the spitting image of the woman in gold.

The Grandmaster’s face was a study in pure delight. “A magician!” he exclaimed.  
  
“I prefer the term sorcerer,” Loki said, stepping forward to reveal a leg in glittering sheer tights. “But you can call me whatever you like.”

“It’s a trick,” Topaz scoffed.

“I assure you it is not.” Loki placed a hand on the arm of the Grandmaster’s throne, her face a mask of reverence. “Touch me. Confirm for yourself that this form is real.”

The Grandmaster didn’t hesitate. One hand reached up to cup her breast; the other slid to her hip, pulling her close. Loki fell forward into the chair, legs astride the Grandmaster’s knee.

“Very nice,” he said, breath hot against her collarbone.

Loki sank into his lap with a coquettish laugh. “Just think,” she purred. “I can wear the face of any man or woman who has ever been foolish enough to deny you. And that’s not all I can do.” Her hand slipped to the inside of his thigh, sending a warm pulse of magic to his groin.

“Oh,” the Grandmaster gasped. His blue-painted nails sank into her hip. “Oh, that is quite the, ah, sensation.”

Topaz cleared her throat.

“But perhaps,” Loki began, catching the woman’s eye; if looks could kill, she would have given Hela a run for her money. “We should continue this in private, Grandmaster.”

“Right, right,” he said, fingering the gauzy hem of her dress. “Topaz, cancel my afternoon meetings.”

“You don’t have any, sir.”

“Oh.” The Grandmaster brightened. “Good! Show our guest to his—ah, her? Show _Loki_ here to our finest quarters. Have him meet me in the room in one hour. You know, the one with the…” He made a gesture Loki couldn’t parse.

Apparently Topaz couldn’t either. “The what, sir?”

“You know, the…” He repeated the gesture.

“The swing, sir?” Topaz sounded very tired.

The Grandmaster dropped his hands with a huff. “Well, now you’ve ruined the surprise. But don’t worry.” He returned his attention to Loki. “I’ve got plenty of surprises I think you’re going to like.”

“I cherish any time spent in your presence, surprises or no.” The sheer leggings became blue leather beneath the Grandmaster’s fingers; a moment later Loki stood before the throne in his familiar form. “Besides, I’m here to serve _you_ , Grandmaster. And I always aim to impress.” His eyes drifted to the bulge in the man’s trousers and back up again. “You’ve already impressed me. In one hour, then?”

The Grandmaster gave a slow, deliberate blink. “I’m counting the minutes.”

Topaz grabbed Loki’s arm and shoved him toward the archway before he could process the gesture.

_Did he just wink with both eyes?_

* * *

 The hall branching off from the throne room was lined with unmarked doors. Loki counted them as they passed; memorizing the lay of the tower would no doubt be useful, and he intended to do so when he was granted free rein of the place. If Topaz had any say in the matter, however, Loki got the feeling he would be confined for a while yet. The woman’s grip on his arm never slackened during the (thankfully brief) walk to his new quarters.

At last they halted in front of a silver door indistinguishable from the others.  

“Listen, Topaz,” Loki began. “I know you don’t trust me, but—”

Topaz slammed him against the wall, one hand digging into his throat, the other brandishing a golden dagger. “Listen closely,” she said. “If you so much as bite the Grandmaster too hard I will shove this so far up your ass his dick won’t even graze the hilt. Clear?”

“Crystal,” he wheezed.

She released him, flipping open a panel beside the door. “The code to enter is four-eight-three. There is no code to leave. If you try, the door will kill you.”

Loki got the distinct impression that his death wouldn’t bother her in the slightest. She typed the code on the touchscreen and the door whisked open.

“Be ready when I return in fifty minutes. Come unarmed.” She sheathed her weapon. “And for fuck’s sake, wear clothes.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day earlier than planned. Thanks for your comments on the first chapter <3.

Though not as spacious as the king’s suite in Odin’s palace, Loki’s new quarters were more than satisfactory. The room was immaculate blue and white with a glass wall overlooking one of the many Sakaarian scrapyards. Probing the glass with his magic, he found it firm but not unbreakable. 

Loki took careful note of the surveillance device mounted on the chromium ceiling; he made a show of removing his daggers and placing them on the bedside table. For a while he toyed with the idea of concealing one of them on his person, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. Besides, the Grandmaster wouldn’t want to damage his new toy so soon. 

He spent the better part of an hour watching the second hand run circles around the clock on the wall, growing excited despite himself. During his brief stint as king of Asgard, he hadn’t indulged in carnal pleasures; Loki had bedded stallions and wolves, but bedding someone in his father’s guise felt like it was crossing some sort of line. 

It had, as the Midgardian saying goes, been a while.   
  
Sleeping with the Grandmaster was a means to gain his favour, and perhaps ultimately his power, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be pleasurable as well. He wanted to know if the blue stripe on the man’s chin was a tattoo—or would it smudge when kissed? He wanted to know how the hand that had gripped his hip would feel digging into the flesh of his ass—would those painted nails leave marks? But most of all he wanted to know how the man’s cock would feel sliding down his throat. 

Oh, he wanted to know that very much.

By the time Topaz reappeared he was half hard. Concealing his excitement with a minor spell, Loki rose to follow her with a smile.

* * *

 

One silent elevator ride and a few dozen paces later, Loki, Topaz, and two guards arrived at the Grandmaster’s suite. The hall was gold with red fluorescents—a motif which faintly reminded him of Tony Stark’s favored suit. Unlike the hall where his quarters were situated, this one seemed to have only one door; tall and gold with an almost painfully tawdry red heart at its centre. 

Topaz opened the panel beside it without ceremony. “Remember,” she said, sliding her hand to the hilt of her dagger. 

“I haven’t forgotten,” he replied.  

The golden door whisked open.   


* * *

Compared to the brightness of the hall, the Grandmaster’s suite was dim. There were no glass walls as there had been in his own quarters; cerulean curtains framed false windows glowing with red light. The floor beneath his boots was yielding—some soft, plush carpet. It felt out of place in a building otherwise comprised of colored steel.

Loki registered the presence of six guards flanking him before the door slammed shut. He stood rigid as his eyes adjusted to the semidarkness, steeling himself for an ambush. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” The Grandmaster was sprawled nude on a blue velvet and gold throne — arms spread, palms open, as if he expected Loki to jump into his lap. “Didn’t you say you were going to, ah ,  impress me?”

Loki relaxed, though he kept the guards in his peripheral vision. “And I will, Grandmaster. Are your soldiers to bear witness?” 

“Oh!” The man snapped his fingers. “Yes. I forgot to mention. Some of my, ah — previous paramours have tried to —” He mimed stabbing himself in the gut. “—So it’s a necessary precaution, I’m afraid.” 

“No need to explain. Besides...” Loki began a slow, sauntering walk toward the man on the throne. “I enjoy an audience.” 

The Grandmaster chuckled. “Not shy, are we?” 

“No,” Loki said. He vanished his clothes with a flourish of hands, revealing a smooth white body; if not for the red erection rising from his groin, he might have been carved from marble. “Not at all.” 

He saw the Grandmaster’s arousal twitch. “Tell me what you want,” the man said, running a finger along the tanned flesh of his thigh. 

Loki’s eyes were lambent in the dimness. “I want to suck it.” 

The Grandmaster smiled. “Go on.” 

“I want to feel you come in my throat. I want to swallow it all.” He took another step forward, now close enough to touch. “I want to feel it soften in my mouth, then grow hard again beneath my hand.” 

Loki kneeled so his face was level with the Grandmaster’s groin, pressing his cheek into the blue velvet cushion. “I want to ride it.” 

“I bet you do.” The Grandmaster threaded his fingers in Loki’s hair. “But I’d, ah, like you to do something else for me first, I think.” 

“Anything.” 

The man’s eyes drifted toward the back of the room; Loki followed his gaze to the squad of guards. 

“Hey, you!” The Grandmaster called. “In blue! Come here.” 

One of the guards split from the rest. Red eyes glared from beneath a helmet that looked too much like his sister’s for comfort. 

“I want you to suck this one’s cock for me,” the Grandmaster said. “An appetizer before the, ah, main course. If you catch my drift.” 

“I do, Grandmaster.” Loki’s hands were sliding beneath the uniform’s faulds when the guard suddenly spoke up.

“Uh, sir.” The voice was very high. “I don’t think this is going to work.” 

The Grandmaster frowned. “Why not?” 

“I don’t have one, sir.” 

“One what?” 

“A dick, sir. I’m a woman.” 

“Oh.” 

Loki’s gaze shifted back to the Grandmaster. The man looked nonplussed. 

“I would happily eat her pussy for you,” Loki said after a beat.

“So flexible!” The Grandmaster grinned. “A man after my own heart. But no, I’m ah, afraid I had my heart set on watching you suck on something a little more, mmm, phallic.” 

He looked to the remaining five guards. “You there! In red! Do you have a dick?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Great!” He waved the blue guard away. “Come here and let my new, ah, lover here take care of you.” 

The new guard had four red eyes instead of the usual pair. Loki thought nothing of this until he felt the twin bulges growing hard beneath his palm. “Do all your men have two penises,” he asked, pulling the man’s waistband down to his knees, “or is it just my lucky day?” 

“We all do,” he said shortly. 

“Mmm.” Loki took one of the cocks in his hand. It was dark blue with prominent ridges along the underside. “Lucky women,” he said, flicking his tongue to lick the base. 

Where testicles would have been on a human (or an Asgardian, for that matter) there was only smooth blue skin, hairless and warm beneath his lips. He pressed a kiss to the underside of each cock before running his tongue along the left one; when he reached the pointed head he took it into his mouth and, slowly, into his throat. 

“Oh my.” The Grandmaster’s voice was low. Loki could hear the man touching himself, a soft rasp in the silence. 

Loki smiled, withdrawing to hold the head between his lips. The right cock was slick with pre-come, firm beneath teasing fingers; he began to pump it as he drew circles around the left with his tongue. 

The guard was breathing heavily but otherwise made no sound.

He took the left deep in his throat as a pulse of magic warmed his right palm. The pulse ran up the length of the man’s cock and into his abdomen; it didn’t take long for Loki to find the prostate (or the alien equivalent, at least). Invisible fingers caressed the organ with practiced ease. 

The guard let out a moan. 

Loki drew back, casting a sultry glance at the Grandmaster. The man was stroking himself furiously. 

“Save some of the work for me, won’t you?” 

The Grandmaster’s pace slowed. “Of course,” he said, licking his lips. “I wouldn’t dream of, ah, depriving you.” 

Loki hummed, taking the guard’s right cock into his mouth this time. He worked the left with his hand, teasing the prostate with his magic, relentless. The chamber soon echoed with the man’s moans. 

“Make him come,” the Grandmaster said breathlessly. “Do it now.” 

Taking the guard into his throat for the last time, Loki obliged. 

The cock in his hand released its load in the crook of his shoulder, running hot and sticky down his chest. The other spilled past his throat, sliding straight to his stomach. He nursed both with his mouth as they softened, letting the guard ride out his orgasm; the man’s legs were shaking when he finally pushed him away.

“How was that, Grandmaster?” 

The man was regarding him with an expression Loki had seen many times: pure, unabashed want.   
  
“Very good.” His voice had taken on a husky tone. “You put on quite a, ah, quite a show.” 

“Oh, I’m just getting warmed up,” Loki said. Sinking his fingers in the plush red carpet, he started toward the throne on all fours; the guard’s come dripped from his navel as he crawled. “Time for the main course?”

The Grandmaster spread his legs as wide as the throne would allow. His hands were gripping the armrests, blue nails in blue velvet. “Come and get it,” he purred.

Loki reared up at the foot of the chair, admiring the Grandmaster’s arousal. It was every bit as large as he had gleaned in the throne room; both longer and thicker than either of the guard’s, ruddy in color, rising from a bed of neatly trimmed silver hair. His palms glided across thighs already slick with sweat, leaning forward when—suddenly—a hand pushed him back. 

Loki looked up, stymied.

“I don’t like to get, ah, fluids that aren’t mine on this chair,” the Grandmaster explained. He slid three fingers against Loki’s navel where the guard’s semen had pooled, tracing the path up to his sternum, across his chest, to his shoulder.

“That’s better.” He considered the come on his fingertips with a wry smile. After a moment, he held it out to Loki. “Be a dear?” 

Loki took the fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean with methodical slowness; the come was cold and bitter, but he savored it all the same. 

“Oh,” the Grandmaster moaned. “You love that, don’t you?” 

Loki let the fingers fall from his lips, pressing his newly clean chest against the chair. “Yes,” he said. “But I bet yours tastes better.” 

Without further ado, he took the Grandmaster in his mouth. 

Pressing his tongue into the slit, Loki found the pre-come there less bitter than the guard’s. He slipped his left hand beneath the shaft, rolling the balls between his thumb and forefinger; with his right he began to squeeze the base.

“Don’t be coy.” The man’s palm found the crown of his head and pushed. “I’ve seen what you can do.” 

Not resisting the pressure, Loki’s lips sank down the length of the cock as it breached his throat. His nose flattened against the pubic bone; the silver hairs there trembled with the force of his breath.   
  
“Oh, that’s it,” the man groaned. His nails scraped against Loki’s scalp—they felt sharp enough to leave marks, after all. “Such a good boy.” 

Loki felt his own arousal stir at the praise.

When the pressure on his head slackened, Loki pulled back, sank down, pulled back again—a slow, consistent rhythm. His right hand, still cradling the Grandmaster’s balls, warmed with magic.

“I’m not gonna, ah—oh! Last long at this rate.” 

_ No, _ Loki thought, lips twitching at the corners.  _ But they never do. _

Invisible fingers found the man’s prostate, pushed against it once. 

That was all it took. 

The Grandmaster shoved him down so forcefully he thought he might choke; well practiced in the art of fellatio, however, Loki recovered without so much as a cough. He felt warm pulses of come rushing to his stomach and relished the sensation.

When the man’s cock was sufficiently soft he drew back, taking the balls in his mouth instead, sucking gently. 

“You know,” the Grandmaster began. “I’ve had a lot—and I, ah, do mean a  _ lot _ —of blowjobs in the millions of years I’ve been around, but that was probably the best.” 

“Probably?” Loki murmured, lips brushing the man’s scrotum. “Then I’ll have to do better next time.” 

The Grandmaster let out a laugh. “Oh, I like you.” 

“Enough to do something about this?” Loki shifted so his erection was flush against the man’s calf. 

The Grandmaster’s eyes, black in the low light, took on a mischievous glint. “Why don’t you, ah, come up here and find out?” He slapped his thighs twice, urging Loki as one might urge a pet. 

“As you wish, Grandmaster.”   
  
Sinking into the cushion, planting his knees on either side of the man’s hips, Loki leaned forward until he could feel hot breath on his neck. 

For a moment, all was still. 

Then a hand found the back of his head, gathered a fistful of black hair, and pulled him into an open-mouthed kiss. 

The man’s tongue slid languidly against his own, unhurried, exploring; Loki thought the taste sweet but biting, like citrus. After a few long minutes, he began rubbing himself against the Grandmaster’s abdomen with short, desperate thrusts.

“Ah-ah-ah,” the man chided, breaking the kiss. His hands dropped to Loki’s hips and held them fast. “You have a thing or two to learn about the value of delayed gratification.” 

Loki ran his tongue over his bottom lip (which was most definitely  _ not  _ protruding in a pout). He noticed the blue stripe on the Grandmaster’s chin, badly smudged by the force of their kiss.  _ Not a tattoo after all, _ he mused.

“Let me get something for you,” the Grandmaster said. He reached over the throne’s armrest, toggling some sort of switch there; it flipped open to reveal a storage compartment. “Had this custom made,” he said, plunging his arm in up to the elbow. “Got tired of getting up every time I wanted to, ah…” He retrieved his arm, brandishing a palm-sized bottle of gold liquid. “Well, you know.” 

Loki glanced at the cock behind him, already half-hard but not quite ready. “Would you like me to suck it again, Grandmaster?” 

The man’s mouth quirked. “Miss it already, huh?” 

“Yes.” 

“Your eagerness warms me,” he said, placing the lubricant by his hip before diving back into the compartment. “But that won’t be necessary. At least not, ah, right now.” 

Loki watched him rummage for a long moment, erection throbbing incessantly. “What are you looking for?” he said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.

“A surprise.” The Grandmaster grinned. “They should be near the—ah, here we go!” He pulled out a pair of handcuffs, padded leather joined by blue-tinted steel. “Now we’re in business.” 

Loki’s cock gave a twitch at the sight. 

“Oh, you like these, do you?” The Grandmaster pushed one arm behind his back; Loki moved the other beside it without prompting. 

“I’ve used restraints before,” he confessed. “I am... quite fond of them.” 

“You struck me as the type,” the man said, tightening the leather clasps. “How’s that?” 

Loki tested the cuffs, finding them sufficiently snug. He could, of course, snap them effortlessly; but where would the fun in that be? 

“A perfect fit,” he said. 

The double entendre was not lost on the Grandmaster. He chuckled, flicking open the lubricant’s silver cap. “I, ah, wonder what else we can make fit.” 

Loki watched the oil drip down the man’s long fingers. “Touch me,” he said. His mouth was suddenly very dry. “Please.” 

The Grandmaster flicked the lubricant closed with his free hand. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head.” An arm slipped around his waist. Soon a pair of oiled fingers were rubbing slow circles around his asshole. “I’m every bit as generous as you’ve heard.” 

He leaned forward, seeking friction; the Grandmaster grabbed his hipbone, held him still. 

“Good things come to those who wait,” the man continued, smiling his impish smile. “What did you hear about me that made you so, ah...” The oiled digits slipped inside, curled sharply. “...desperate, to find me, anyway?” 

Loki’s hips jerked as fingertips brushed his prostate, but the Grandmaster’s grip was like iron. Pre-come dripped from his neglected cock. “How about you jerk me off and I’ll tell you,” he gasped. 

“Sorry,” the man took one of Loki’s nipples in his mouth; sucked, released it. “But you’re in no position to bargain.” 

Loki groaned, threw his head back, locked eyes with his own reflection in the mirrored ceiling. His face was flushed and gleaming with sweat.

“I heard there was a man of fabulous wealth,” he said. “A man who, for all his awesome power, delights most in life’s base pleasures.”

“Hmm.” The Grandmaster seemed to consider this. “And what were you, ah, hoping I’d do with you?” 

Loki tilted his head down to look him in the eye. “Make me your whore,” he said, pressing bound wrists against the hand in his ass, urging it deeper. “Your slut,” he continued, rocking into the probing fingers. “Your slave.” 

The man made a face. “I don’t like that word.” 

“What? Whore?” 

“No, the ‘S’ word.”

“Slut?” 

The Grandmaster sighed in apparent exasperation. “No, I—what’s wrong with slut? Slave! I don’t like the word slave.” 

Loki took a deep breath to quell his rising annoyance. “Fine,” he said. “I was hoping you’d make me your...willing and eager sexual servant.” 

The man smiled. “Better!” 

Fingers withdrew from his ass, seeking the bottle on the cushion. “And I’m, ah, happy to oblige, of course. You’ll have everything you could ever want on Sakaar—food, wine, women, men—”

“Right now I’d settle for your cock in my ass.” 

The Grandmaster poured a generous amount of oil into his palm. “Don’t rush me,” he said. “Or would you prefer I fuck one of my guards while you sit here with your hands tied?” 

Loki swallowed hard. “I... apologize for being hasty, Grandmaster.” 

“All’s forgiven. I understand you’re experiencing some, ah, stress.” The man grabbed his own cock, spreading oil on the shaft, now fully erect. “How about you sit down and relax.” 

Something hot and slick brushed his perineum. Loki lowered himself, letting the head slide up to his asshole; he guided the man’s cock inside with pinioned hands, gasping as it breached him.   
  
“Fuck,” he rasped. “You’re huge.” 

Placing both hands on Loki’s hips, the Grandmaster pushed down, hard. Loki let out a strangled cry as the man sheathed himself to the hilt. 

“I thought you wanted to ride it?” the Grandmaster teased. “If it’s too much for you, we can—” 

“Don’t you dare take your cock out of me.” Loki raised himself on his knees and dropped down again, rolling his hips with frantic ardor. 

The Grandmaster sank his nails deep in Loki’s waist, face awash with pleasure. “Keep moving like that, sweetie, and I won’t.” 

With no hands to support himself, Loki’s thighs and abdominals were soon burning with exertion; still he kept his breakneck pace, eyes glazed with want, the thick shaft sliding against his prostate. The Grandmaster’s mouth found his nipples again, sucking hard enough to bruise. 

“Choke me,” Loki gasped.

“What?”  
  
“I said—” A hand pressed against his throat before he could repeat himself. 

“I got you, I got you.” The Grandmaster licked his lips. “Like it rough, huh?” 

“Yes.” A bead of sweat chased the curve of his spine. “Harder.” 

The grip on his throat tightened. Still, he did not slow. The edges of his vision began to darken. 

“Are you gonna come for me?” 

_ You haven’t so much as grazed my dick, you bastard, _ Loki thought. Out loud, he repeated his plea: “Touch me.” 

The man’s free hand cupped his balls but moved no further. “I, ah, don’t think I need to,” he said. 

Were there any air left in his lungs, Loki would have screamed. 

“Come on.” A finger stroked his perineum. “Don’t quit on me now.” 

Loki’s head lolled in the man’s grip. Every muscle in his body cried for succor. 

Still, he did not slow.

A gust of wind on his cock might have pushed him over the edge. As it was, the room’s air was stagnant; pressure rising in his lower abdomen, the darkness in his vision grew until it threatened to blind him entirely. 

Just when he felt he would faint or burst, a hot spear of pleasure lanced his spine. His vision did go black for a moment, but it returned when the Grandmaster’s hand dropped from his throat. 

“See?”

Loki’s mouth was agape in silent rapture. His whole body was trembling. 

“I knew you could do it.” 

Looking down, Loki saw the remnant of his orgasm dripping down the man’s chest; he gasped wildly, trying to stifle the fire in his lungs. 

“What’s the matter?” The Grandmaster, still very much erect, rolled his hips against Loki’s. “Need a break?” 

_ God, yes, _ he thought. “Never,” he said.

The man gave his ass a firm slap. “Then get moving.” 

Loki swallowed a groan and obeyed.   


* * *

Five minutes later, Loki collapsed with come gushing from his ass. His chest heaved against the Grandmaster’s, mixing sweat with his own dried semen; his legs felt as if they were going to dissolve into the cushion. 

“Color me impressed,” the Grandmaster said, reaching around to unfasten the handcuffs. “Wasn’t sure you were gonna make it toward the end there.” 

Loki pressed his sweat-drenched brow into the man’s neck. “I was never worried,” he lied. When his wrists slipped free, he rolled his shoulders and nearly cried out with relief. 

“My, ah, usual paramours don’t have the stamina to keep up with me.” 

“There’s nothing  _ usual _ about me,” Loki said.

The Grandmaster chuckled, giving his asscheek an affectionate squeeze. “Right you are.”

He was falling into a doze when the man spoke again. 

“How many cocks have you had in you?”  
  
Loki yawned. “Total or at once?” 

“At once.” 

Loki hummed against the man’s ear, considering the question. “Only two in this form,” he said. “Four in my female form—mouth, ass, and double vaginal.”

The Grandmaster let out a low whistle. “Hard numbers to beat.” He traced Loki’s spine with his forefinger. “Though I think we could top your, ah,  _ male _ record, without too much trouble.” 

“Now?” Loki asked, trying not to sound as tired as he felt. 

“Nah—I’ll throw a party. You’ll love it. I’ll invite all my usual suspects.” 

Loki stifled another yawn. “Sounds divine.” 

He was drifting off again when the sound of the Grandmaster hitting his own forehead jolted him awake.

“I almost forgot!” The man reached over the armrest, fumbling for something; a moment later there was a clinking noise, like chains unravelling, behind him. 

Loki turned around. 

Hanging from a trap door in the ceiling, supported by a pair of silver cables, was a sex swing. 

“I think I’d like to see this  _ female _ you I’ve heard so much about,” the Grandmaster said. “That is, if you’re not too tired for another round…?” 

“Me? Too tired for sex?” Loki roused himself with a huff. “Never.”   


* * *

An hour later, with her belly flush against the swing and the Grandmaster ramming himself into her with wild abandon, Loki began to think she had met her match in sexual voracity.

Three hours later, she was certain of it. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the final chapter. Thanks again for the kudos and comments <3!

“You must be the Grandmaster’s new whore.”

Loki flashed the woman in black a good-natured smile, sipping at his sparkling blue cocktail. “Outside the bedroom I prefer to call myself his friend.”

The woman snorted, taking a swig of her own drink. “Call yourself whatever you like. But if you’re deluded enough to believe you’re more than another hole for him to fuck, I feel sorry for you.”

Loki’s smile did not falter. It had been over a week since his arrival in Sakaar, and this was his first unsupervised outing; Topaz’s absence (and a nightly routine of exhausting but truly spectacular sex) had him in a pleasant mood.

He leaned back against the table where colorfully dressed patrons were tossing equally colorful dice on a black felt surface. The low murmur of conversation in the parlour was punctuated by the curses of unlucky gamblers.

“Fancy a game?” he said.

She regarded him with dark eyes. “You played before?”

“No. But I’ve been watching.”

The woman shrugged. “I’d be happy to take some credits off your hands. I’m sure the Grandmaster gave you plenty.”

“You’re right.” Loki produced three yellow chips from his pocket and tossed them on the table. “The Grandmaster spares no expense for his favourite _whore_.”

The woman tossed in three of her own. “Nor for his favourite scrapper.”

A man considered the newly augmented pile of chips and quit the table with a sigh. The dealer, a tall woman with rich purple skin, gathered the dice in an opaque cup.

“Just you four, then?” she said.

Loki’s eyes darted to the pair opposite himself and the woman scrapper. They made no move to leave. “Four’s fine with me.”

“Me too,” said the scrapper.

The others grunted assent from behind ornately carved masks.

“Alright,” the dealer began. “We go clockwise. If you roll a blank and you’re out of chips, you forfeit the game.”

Loki took the cup from her outstretched hand. “You called yourself a scrapper?” he said, addressing the woman in black. “Most of the scrappers I’ve seen are a lot, ah…”

“Dirtier than me?”

“Well, yes.” He began to shake the cup. “You look lovely, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I know how I look. Though I don’t usually dress like this.” Her long-sleeved blouse was cut low, framing a necklace with a citrine pendant.

Loki’s eyes settled on the gemstone. “A gift from the Grandmaster?”

“No. Won it off a fool who spent all his credits. Figured I’d wear it once before I pawn it.” She gestured at the cup. “Hurry up and shoot.”

He poured the dice on the table and studied them for a beat. “I’d like to roll a double,” he said, tossing another chip onto the pile.

“You sure?”

“I’m feeling lucky.”

“Famous last words,” she quipped, finishing her drink.

Loki ignored her. Gathering the dice in the cup, he began to shake it again. “The Grandmaster is having a party next week,” he said.

The scrapper plucked a bottle off a passing waiter’s tray. “I’m aware.”

“Will I see you there?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Loki released the dice; this time he smiled at the result. “I believe that’s four points for me?”

“You’re a fast learner,” she said, taking the cup from him. “And I’m not a fan of parties that involve group sex.”

“No? That’s a shame.”

The scrapper threw the dice. “Looks like six for me.” She passed the cup to the next player.

“You know, ” Loki began, leaning in to brush a strand of hair from her face. “I’m sure the Grandmaster wouldn’t mind arranging something a bit more... private, if you’re so inclined.”

She slapped his hand away. “You’re not my type.”

“What is your type?”

“Not you,” she said. Her grin was mirthless. “It’s your turn, whore.”

The masked men had not rolled well; one cut his losses and left the table. Loki took the cup without breaking eye contact. “I’m everyone’s type,” he said. “Sometimes you just need to take a second look.”

He threw the dice.

The scrapper’s gaze dropped to the table. “Well it _looks_ like you’re shit out of—”  

She glanced up and stopped short.

Loki, previously clothed in leather, now wore a sheer blue dress with gold filigree. Though the green eyes were unchanged, the face and body had shifted considerably; she was now unmistakably female.

“What do you think of this form?” Loki asked. Her voice was high and smooth.

“I—uh—well.” The scrapper cleared her throat. “It’s better.”

Loki smiled, gathering the dice; all four displayed surfaces without markings or symbols. “I rolled a blank, which means my score drops to zero, yes?”

“And you must add a chip to the pile,” the dealer cut in. “Or forfeit.”

“Right.” Loki discarded another chip. “Your turn, scrapper.”

The woman took a long pull from her drink. Giving the cup a perfunctory shake, she set the dice loose almost absently. “Four,” she said. “Not bad.”  

Loki reached for the cup.

“Wait.” She added one of her own chips to the pile. “I’m gonna roll a double.”

“Feeling lucky?” Loki placed a hand on the scrapper’s shoulder. She did not slap it away.

“Something like that.” She shook the cup three times, lips pursed in apparent concentration.

As the dice fell to the tabletop, Loki kissed her full on the mouth.

The scrapper stiffened at first, pressing palms against Loki’s shoulders as if to shove her back. But a moment later her lips parted, her hands grasped the taller woman’s shoulders, and she returned the kiss with vigor.

She tasted strongly of ale, with an undertone of something sharper—whiskey, perhaps. Unlike the Grandmaster’s, the scrapper’s kisses felt rushed, almost frenzied; Loki steadied herself against the table with one hand and pulled their waists flush with the other.

Teeth sank into her lower lip. Loki smiled against the bite. She pushed a smooth white thigh between the woman’s black trousers, parting her legs with no resistance. Her fingers slipped beneath the waistband, grazing the coarse hair there, sliding down—

The scrapper shoved her away.

Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she peered at Loki over her forearm; dark eyes gleamed with a potent mixture of anger and lust.

“You’ve got a pretty face,” she said. “But I’m not drunk enough to fuck you in public.”

Loki traced the woman’s swollen lips with her thumb. “How about in private?”

The scrapper let out a short bark of laughter. “You belong to the Grandmaster. I don’t like to share. Besides,” she said, turning to the table, “I think I’m done here.”

The third player had apparently abandoned the game. Seemingly unmoved by their spectacle, the dealer remained.

Loki frowned at the dice. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to play another round?”

“Not on your life.” She turned to the dealer. “I believe I’ve won. Transfer the credits.”

The purple-skinned woman complied wordlessly. The middle of the table parted, swallowed the sizable pile of chips, then closed again with a mechanical _clunk_.  

“You never told me your name,” Loki said.

“I know.” The scrapper started toward one of the parlour’s many exits. “That was intentional.”

Loki watched her leave with some regret.

“Don’t feel too bad.” An arm slipped around the small of her waist. “I’ve never been able to, ah, woo that one either.”

She turned into the familiar embrace. “Who is she, Grandmaster?”

“142. Best scrapper in Sakaar. She brought me my champion,” he said, his expression suddenly wistful.

“Champion?”

“Oh, you don’t know him?” The Grandmaster frowned. “Surely you’ve heard about my contest of champions, since you’ve, ah, heard so much about me.”

“Of course I have,” Loki lied. “But I’d like to hear it from you, Grandmaster. I never tire of hearing you talk.”

“Ah, Loki, Loki,” he chuckled. “Flattery will get you everywhere, you little minx. Yes, my contest features the fiercest warriors in the multiverse duking it out—to the death, of course.” His gaze drifted to the door where 142 had quit the room. “Hundreds of fights and my beloved champion is undefeated.”

She followed his gaze. “When will I see this champion in action?”

“I’m afraid the pool of worthy contenders is running rather dry,” he confessed. “But don’t you worry. I’m sure someone will turn up soon. They always do.”

Loki hummed, pressing a kiss to the underside of the Grandmaster’s jaw. Her brief liaison with 142 had her feeling riled up. “Did I hear you say that scrapper rejected you?”

“You did.”

She fingered the red and blue folds of his shirt. “Would you like me to wear her face for you?”

The Grandmaster’s wolfish grin required no further answer.

* * *

 Four hours later, Loki lay watching the rise and fall of the Grandmaster’s chest with rapt intensity. The man was sleeping—had been for about ten minutes—and the two guards at the door seemed to be paying them no mind.

She shifted in the massive bed. Still wearing the scrapper’s form, her skin was a warm brown against stark white sheets. The Grandmaster did not stir—not even as a green ripple of magic washed over his face, softening his masculine features.

Now, to an outside observer, it would appear the woman scrapper lay asleep while the Grandmaster pushed himself to a sitting position. He was clothed, though he hadn’t been a moment before. If the guards noticed this, they made no comment; they each gave him a curt nod as he passed through the double doors into the hallway.

Recalling the lay of the tower, Loki started down the corridor at a leisurely pace.

* * *

It took him five minutes to find what he was looking for.

The screen was nearly as wide as he was tall. Its glass surface reflected the face he wore—the Grandmaster’s face—on a black background. Loki tapped the screen with his finger and it came to life, cyan letters appearing at its centre:

PLEASE LOOK INTO THE SCANNER.

There was a mechanical whir as a device popped out of the screen. It was small, flat, and emitting a thin red light. He did not flinch as it approached his eye, shrinking his left pupil to a pinprick.

WELCOME GRANDMASTER.

A wall of text and symbols appeared on the massive screen. Some Loki could read; others he vaguely recognized; yet others he had never seen before. He noticed with some humor that one folder was labeled “Nudes.”

“Computer,” he said lowly. “Show me all files related to this tower’s security system.”

AS YOU WISH, GRANDMASTER. AND MAY I SAY YOU ARE LOOKING ESPECIALLY HANDSOME TODAY?

His mouth quirked. Below the bizarre compliment, a sizable list of filenames began scrolling past. He dismissed the duty rosters with a flick of his hand. The blueprints he passed over with some reluctance; though they would undoubtedly be useful, time was short. The Grandmaster was a deep sleeper, but Loki did not care for unnecessary risks.  

At last he spotted it.

“Computer, display contents of the file labeled ‘access codes.’”

IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE, OH BENEVOLENT ONE.

His eyes flitted across the screen, taking in the numbers and corresponding locations with quiet urgency. He had most of the list memorized when a voice broke his concentration.

“Grandmaster?”

Loki quickly closed the file and tapped a random folder with his forefinger. He turned around; without her usual contemptuous tone, he hadn’t recognized the speaker.

“Topaz!” he exclaimed. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Did you need something from me, sir?”

“Yes.” Loki turned back to the screen. Cursing inwardly, he saw that he’d blindly selected the Grandmaster’s considerable pornography collection. “This woman,” he said, clicking on a picture toward the top. “Is she one of mine?”

Topaz’s gaze shifted to the screen. A life-sized humanoid with blue skin lay nude on a mauve recliner. One of her legs was lifted over her head, revealing the indigo folds of her labia.

“She was,” Topaz said. “You melted her a month ago.”

He snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes, I remember now. What a shame! I was having a, ah... craving.”

“Did you need anything else, sir?

“No, Topaz, that will be all. Dearest Loki is waiting in my bedchamber.”

She frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t leave him alone. I told you I don’t trust him.”

Loki placed a reassuring hand on her armoured shoulder. “He’s not alone. I left him with two guards. Besides, he—well, _she_ at the moment—was sleeping like a baby when I left.”

“Very well.” Topaz did not look satisfied, but she seemed ready to drop the subject. “Have a good night, sir.”

“You too, Topaz.”

She looked at him for a long moment, dark eyes narrowing with something like suspicion. The moment passed, however, and Topaz continued down the corridor without another word.

* * *

 Back in the Grandmaster’s suite, the form on the bed had barely moved. There was a brief shimmer of green as Loki slipped beneath the sheets, returning the Grandmaster to his own form and herself to that of the scrapper.

She slipped an ankle between the man’s calves and closed her eyes. Soon feigned sleep yielded to real sleep.

* * *

 “Well, what do you think?”

Illuminated by white fluorescents, _The_ _Commodore_ cut a red and gold ellipse in the darkness of the docking bay. Loki stood a few paces from the vessel, wearing his male form at the Grandmaster’s explicit request; blue leather had been exchanged for sheer stockings and a black leather garter. “It’s beautiful, Grandmaster.”

“Wait till you see what’s inside. I’ve invited all my, ah, favorites.” He pressed a button on the wall adjacent to the ship. The engine began to hum.

“Where are we going?”

“Just for a ride. It’s a party not a business trip, sweetie.” The Grandmaster smiled, splaying a hand on Loki’s bare chest. “How’d you like to break that record?”

“Three cocks at once?” Loki covered the hand with his own. “As long as one of them’s yours.”

The man laughed. “Don’t you worry about _that_. Come on.”

There were six people waiting on the little ship. Pulling himself up through the hatch, Loki nearly collided with a smooth brown leg; the woman stumbled over him with a coquettish giggle. The largest of the men sat on a white cushion, one woman straddling each thigh. Evidently the same species as the guard from his first night in Sakaar, the nude man boasted twin blue erections.

“Ready, sir?” said the pilot. Given his armored attire, Loki assumed the man would not be participating in the evening’s festivities.  
  
The Grandmaster dropped his robe. “Yes, yes. Take us out nice and slow, Tom.” He slipped a hand into the wall’s storage compartment, producing a tall bottle of spirits. “Let’s, ah, get this party started, shall we?”

* * *

 Though it was quite loud, Loki could barely hear the electronic music over the rush of blood in his ears. A tongue searched his navel for the booze pooling there. A warm mouth cradled his balls. Small, deft fingers squeezed the base of his cock while a vibrating ring on the shaft brought him to the edge of ecstasy and held him fast.

This was almost enough to distract him from the growing discomfort in his asshole.

It was easy to see why the blue man had been chosen for the occasion—both of his cocks were as large as the Grandmaster’s. The first had slipped in with relative ease, but the second had rammed uselessly against his ass, thwarting deep thrusts. Loki had been given about five seconds to wonder what compatible female anatomy might look like before he felt two heads probing his entrance.

“More lube,” he gasped.

Compliant fingers spread oil on the intruding member; the man began to sheath himself with excruciating slowness.

“Wow! Look at that. He’s doing it!” The Grandmaster’s voice seemed far away. “Aw, sweetheart, you need to relax. Here.”

A hand tilted his head to the side. Something stiff and warm filled his gaping mouth.

“He loves to suck it,” the voice said. “Don’t you, Loki?”

He moaned around the Grandmaster’s cock. Loki felt the tension drain from his body as the man started to fuck his face.

“Oh, that’s a good boy. Take it—take it for me.”

For a few blissful moments he was floating, buoyed by a feeling of impossible fullness, his pulse chasing the rapid thrum of the synths. Then the blue man buried himself to the hilt (or rather, hilts) in one forceful thrust.

Already teetering on the brink, Loki’s orgasm struck him like a bolt of lighting. His hips jerked up in a paroxysm of ecstasy; his scream stumbled into a cough as the Grandmaster entered his throat.  

“I think he’s loving this a little too much,” a woman said.

Someone poured another drink onto Loki’s abdomen and began licking it off along with the fresh semen. A pair of fingers pulled the ring off his softening arousal.

“Ha! I don’t think there’s such thing as loving something too much,” the Grandmaster said, rubbing his thumb against Loki’s temple. “Besides, Trish, he’s earned this.”

The blue man quickened his pace. Loki was beginning to think he’d died and gone to Valhalla when a cold voice cut through the haze.

“Sir, Topaz is on the line.”

“I’m ah, kinda busy here, Tom. Can it wait?”

“She says Scrapper 142 has got something. Your call.”

Loki’s mouth was suddenly empty again. He glimpsed the Grandmaster’s bare ass headed toward the front of the ship before one of the women—Trish?—filled the void the man had left with her tongue.

Even without the distraction of being stretched to his limits on one end and kissed by a beautiful woman on the other, the music was too loud for proper eavesdropping. Loki opted not to strain himself with the effort. Besides, he was warming to the idea of a permanent position as the Grandmaster’s favourite concubine—what more could he possibly gain from a coup?

Trish broke the kiss and motioned for the blue man to pause. Two pairs of hands rolled him onto his stomach; the woman pulled his head into her lap as the man hoisted his ass into the air.

Both cocks breached his asshole with ease. Loki opened his mouth to moan and found a very different set of lips pressed against his.

_I could do this forever,_ he thought, sliding his tongue between the woman’s inner labia. At their improved angle, the blue man had him seeing seeing stars with every thrust. _Fuck Asgard. Hela can have it._

“Sorry about that,” said a voice to his left. Loki glanced sidewise, but with his head buried in Trish’s crotch all he could see were the Grandmaster’s legs. “How’s it going over here? Darmok, you look like you’re ready to bust!”

“I was waiting for you,” said the blue man. “May I come now, Grandmaster?”

“Aw, that’s so thoughtful! Please do, and quickly. Our party’s getting cut a wee bit short. I’ve got some, ah, business to attend to.”

Darmok upped the tempo. Trish rocked her hips against Loki’s face. He was hard again, and another whore had taken the liberty of replacing his cock ring.

“Don’t just lay there, you spoiled little tease.” The Grandmaster slapped his ass; Loki jumped at the sting of the rings on his fingers. “Make him come. Make them both come.”

Loki closed his eyes and gathered himself, seeking the core of magic at his centre. He let it rise to the tip of his tongue, pressing it against the woman’s throbbing clit; he let it flow up the curve of his spine and encircle his sphincter.

Two cries of pleasure—one low and sonorous, the other high and quavering—momentarily drowned out the music. Twin pulses of come filled his ass as pointed nails sank deep in his scalp.

Not waiting for his concubines to finish, the Grandmaster grabbed Loki’s hair and yanked him to a sitting position. Loki could feel his asshole, still recovering from the onslaught, dripping come on the hard floor.

“We’ve got five minutes till we’re back at my tower,” the Grandmaster said. “I’ll meet you in the west side lounge after I see what 142 brought me.”

He felt a twinge of jealousy. “Why not keep her waiting a little longer?”  

“Don’t tempt me.” The man held his erection to Loki’s cheek, still damp with sweat and vaginal juices. “Besides, you won’t take long to make me come, will you?”

“I would prefer to take my time.”

“I ah, didn’t ask what you prefer, sweetie.” The Grandmaster pressed the head against his lips. “You’re down to four minutes now.”

Loki opened his mouth and began to suck.

* * *

 “So how did you wind up on Sakaar?”

Loki considered Trish over his cocktail. She wore a red and black dress with an elaborate headpiece and fishnet veil; since he was the only one of the Grandmaster’s concubines with the ability to shapeshift (at least, so far as he knew), the woman must have showered and donned the costume in a mere fifteen minutes.  

“It’s a long story.”

He had told it before, of course. Both the Grandmaster and Topaz had listened to the carefully crafted tale; the latter had grilled him on the finer details until he had begun to sweat. It was a story riddled with half-truths, as all good lies are.

Trish took a sip of her drink. “I’ve got time.”

“I suppose we both do,” he said, leaning back against the off-white couch. “It all started years ago, when my father banished me from the only home I had ever known…”

By the time he was nearing the conclusion, Loki had garnered a small crowd.

“My ship was useless. Malekith stood above me, his boot crushing my hand. I knew Sakaar—and all her treasures—was close, but I had never felt further away.”

Trish leaned forward, her expression rapt. “What did you do?”

“I did the only thing I could do. There was a wormhole in space and time beneath me.” Loki flashed his winsome smile. “At that moment, I let go.”

There was a surge of good natured laughter that, for a moment, made him think he had imagined the voice calling his name.

Then he saw him.

Bound to a metal chair, mere paces away, sat his one and only brother. There was something terribly like hope in his expression.

Loki blanched. _Oh, shit._


End file.
